The Crossroads
by DamaDeHonor
Summary: Drabble or Short story. AU with a twist. What would have happened if Dean decided to make a Deal to bring John back, not knowing Sam would later die?


**Notes:** Idk. I just haven't posted anything in a long while and **poestheblackcat** suggested I post this, and I was like, "Sure will... just as soon as I feel like it." ;) Well, pretty much. So here goes, hope you have as much angsty fun reading it as I did writing it. :D

Also half-cred to **poes** for this idea. One of us wondered what woulda happened if Dean _had_ decided to bring John back before Sam went and ate pie. And then she egged me on to write it. :P

**Spoilers:** "AHBL Part 2", "Devil's Trap"

**Warning/Rating:** PG-13.

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**"The Crossroads"**

If Dean had known Sam would die, he would never have made the deal. Now Dad sat across from him in the car, looking distant as ever, mind on his work, not his son or the son he'd lost. Now Dean knew first hand why John gave the Colt to Yellow-Eyes. He wished he didn't.

At first, when Sammy died, Dean thought Dad was going to leave as soon as the funeral ended. But he hadn't. Instead, he'd whispered quietly to Bobby out in the main room of some shack, while Dean paced the empty room Sam's body had lain in. Dean had heard the tail-end of the older hunters' conversation when John had burst out of his whisper.

"... talk to him right now, Bobby!" He'd glanced Dean's way, and Dean had pretended not to notice or care. "He loved Sam like more than a brother, and you know it. So he _hates_ me right now. If anyone's going to get through to him, it's going to be you, not me." After that, he left.

Dean _didn't_ care. He wished John _would_ leave and not come back. Because he was right. Sam was dead because of him, because Dean had chosen to bring his father back... because _he'd_ felt guilty for what John did to save his life. No. He wasn't going to stop blaming him. It was his own fault Dean hated him.

Bobby did come to the doorway some minutes later, offering Dean a cup of coffee. "Come on, kid. You have to eat something," he requested.

Dean hadn't taken it. He'd gone out.

Bobby knew full well he was about to try something stupid, but yelling hadn't stopped Dean. He'd still gone to the crossroads, walked on crunching earth to the center, the cool wind on his hot skin and the night around him like a sort of humid blanket... It'd felt like a storm was coming.

But only the crossroads' demon showed up. She didn't have anything good to say.

Hell was _already_ getting his soul. He should have known better.

"Dean."

At first, he didn't notice the voice, but then Dad shook his arm. "Dean, you're falling asleep at the wheel. Let me drive for awhile."

"No."

John swore. "Pull over."

Dean had a few things he wanted to tell him, but instead, he jerked the wheel and the Impala swung over to the side of the road and halted abruptly enough to give them minor whiplash.

John got out and slammed the door, and Dean took a breath and followed. He came around to stand at the hood, and John met him there. "Is there something you want to say to me, Dean?"

Dean shook his head. He'd been silent for years, only John hadn't noticed because he'd started talking again. He hadn't realized Dean hadn't really been saying anything at all. Only Sam had really heard him, even through all the bull crap he'd spat out to camouflage the truth.

"You're not fooling me, son." The endearment made him wince. "If you've got something to say to me, don't hold back. I'm tired of pussy-footing around you."

Dean motioned toward the car. "You told me to take care of her, didn't you?"

"What?" John blinked, shook his head, not understanding.

"The Impala. And I did. I have." Dean nodded. He suddenly felt like a weight had descended on his chest. "I took care of her, Dad. I did the best I could. And then a mack truck hit her."

"Dean..."

"No, you listen to me!" Dean swallowed, and a couple tears streamed out of his eyes. He didn't dare wipe them away. "All I ever wanted to do was make you proud of me. But even when Sammy left for college, all you ever did was find ways to stay out of my life. Heck, you even went missing to get away from me!"

John looked like he was going to protest, so Dean grabbed his shirt and yelled, "Just shut up and let me talk! I did _everything_, Dad. I tried to be the best son I could be, the best _hunter_. And you always loved Sam more, even when he turned his back and walked out on you--no, maybe because of it." He released John's shirt and stepped away. He wasn't sure he had anything more to say now.

No. Maybe he did. "You know what? I took care of Sam the best that I could. And I... I loved him. I would've given my life for him."

No cars passed them on the road, there was no sound but the cicadas or whatever was making that insane buzzing. The sky was dark-blue and purple on the horizon, and there was a silhouette of hills and fences and bushes, but beyond that was utter and complete darkness. They were in the middle of nowhere. It was how he felt sometimes.

"I'm sorry."

It wasn't what he expected to hear. He didn't respond, just stared at his feet under the illumination of the headlights. John still hadn't figured out what he'd done to bring him back. He hadn't even bothered to ask. If things had gone down different, Dean knew Sam would have asked. He wouldn't have shut up about it.

"It's too late," he replied.

John didn't react right away. His voice was soft and tense when he spoke. "You made a deal."

Dean looked at him; he stared. What could he say? "I wish I'd left you there to rot."

_The man he didn't know anymore flinched. He didn't say anything, didn't yell, didn't hit him. He just watched Dean, silently, until Dean realized he was looking at his own face in the mirror, made ghostly pale and somehow menacing by the dim light drifting in from the one and only window._

_Instead of reaching for the bathroom light in an attempt to chase away the mental image, he opened the door and went out into the motel room. Sam was asleep in bed. Dean wiped his face and sat across from him on the other bed._

_He waited for the rise and fall of Sam's torso with bated breath. When it came, he continued watching, but his mind drifted. He sat there, unready to face the state which wasn't restful to him anymore. After some time, he concluded that the worst thing about the choices he'd made wasn't that he'd made them. That wasn't what kept him up all night._

_It was the ones he could have made instead._

The End.


End file.
